Incomprehensible Devotion
by SumQuiSum
Summary: Duncan - a Grey Warden who fell at the battle of Ostagar. Little is known about him. Only one creature knew more. She would say she had known him better than she knows herself. From his birth to his death, nothing was withheld from her. He sung to her tune, like a slave to his master. But, truthfully, she was the slave, trapped in the eternal emotions he brought forth inside her.
1. Prologue

"I don't think he had any family to speak of." So it was true. Hiding in the shadows of one of the few remaining bushes is Lothering, I allowed the tears to stream freely. He truly was dead. But this boy . . . he was wrong. A single glance at my left ring finger proved that. No, Duncan may not have had flesh and blood family, but a spouse was a different matter.

A completely different matter.

* * *

_This is set during a different time period to the rest. All other chapters are set a few years before Dragon Age: Origins. Please comment and review and stuff. If you want._


	2. Chapter 1

I don't know what made him visit the Alienage on that day. Maybe it was the singing, or the music, or the shouting. We didn't have celebrations very often - hardly ever to be precise. But today was special. You see, it is often celebrated when an elf comes of age. Hardly any children make it to twenty-one with the current conditions. I did. The day I speak of was my twenty-first birthday. My living conditions were better than most, but they would still have not been classed as average. Still, I was happy. I had woken early, the anticipation proving too much for me. Everyone had told what a fantastic day I was going to have. By the time my father arose, I was almost leaping from the walls in excitement. Most out of character for me. Usually, I was quiet, nervous about everything and everyone. It had taken me years to trust my own family and another two to open up to the village elder. I was worse around the humans, much worse. Many a time, I would hide, cowering in a remote corner until they had passed through. I had heard stories from a young age of what they did to us elves, particularly the female ones. It had happened to my mother, may the Maker watch over her. She died moments after my birth, having only enough time to give me a name - Xirabo. My frightened nature also reflected through my appearance. I kept my hair short on the right, cut close to my head, revealing my 'knife-ears'. The other side was weighted down by a chin-length fringe, thick and rarely swept aside. The brown locks hid one of my uncommon grey eyes, the other constantly darting left and right for signs of danger. Not that I couldn't protect myself. I was the most adept fighter in the district, excluding my father, favoring a sword in the right hand and a dagger in the left. I just hardly ever showed it unless the situations was dire. The Alienage was often a quiet place and we were commonly left alone. I had no desire to cause trouble and change that. But none of this matters. The point was, it was my birthday and, for the first time in years, I pushed out into the open air without a trace of fear within me, my weapons laying abandoned on my bed. I wouldn't need them. Or so I had thought anyway.  
"Morning, Pip." Turning, I greeted Elder Valendrian with the biggest smile I could muster. Needless to say, he was stunned into silence. Laughing, I jumped up and down, clapping my hands in delight. As terror had been my constant companion as a child, I had never really been able to join in with the others, never had the opportunity to be a youngster. It had only recently started to catch-up with me.  
"Well, you're . . . energetic this morning, Xirabo."  
"Sorry, Elder. I just . . . I just can't wait! Father says he's got a big surprise for me and he hinted that it might be a new sword!" Chuckling, Valendrian ruffled my hair gently. I flinched at the sudden contact, but caught myself before I pulled away. I may have been used to the elder, but it didn't always override my reactions.  
"Pip, I do believe young Alarith was looking for you. He said something about having a gift for the birthday girl . . ." I was gone before he had even been given the chance to finish. Usually, I would have been hesitant, but today was today and it was Alarith. He was the only one I could say truly understood me. He himself had escaped from slavery and brutal treatment, a gracious gift from the shem that had controlled him. That's when it happened. He walked in. We all knew who he was. We all knew he had the power to execute us because he felt like it. He had done so before; he hadn't liked the elf's face. We also knew that nothing good ever came from his presence in the Alienage. One glance told me there was no point in trying to avoid contact. He was already marching in my direction.  
"Elf! What's going on here?" A single hand wrapped around my slim wrist. My body reacted instantaneously. Tremors wracked my form, eyes closed and tears started to fall. He was close. He was so close. I couldn't handle it.  
"Answer me, scum!" His grip was slowly tightening, constricting blood flow. I was surprised it hadn't snapped yet. I wanted to cry out, but the distress coursed through me like a poison, holding me in place. I couldn't move. I couldn't cry out. I barely managed a whisper.  
"I-it's a p-p-party, sir," I murmured, feeling the wind attempt to dry the wet trails on my skin. It was useless. More replaced them almost immediately.  
"What kind of party?"  
"A b-birthday party, sir. It is t-t-traditional for a p-party to be thrown when an e-elf comes of age." Without warning, I was thrown backwards by a large hand colliding with the bloom of my cheek.  
"I didn't ask for a back story, bitch, nor did I want to listen to you talk more than necessary. Keep your mouth shut next time," he ordered, sneering before turning to the group of men behind him. "Looks like we're coming back later, boys. Prepare for a night of fun." With that, he swiveled to face the gate, strolling through it without a care in the world. I wish I could have said the same. Cautiously, I picked myself up from the floor, ready to drop down again at any moment, lest he make a reappearance. I waited, but he didn't reappear. Sure that I was safe, I tore off in the other direction, my legs still trembling. But nothing was going to ruin today. He wouldn't really come back. Right?

"And now, we present to you the birthday girl herself! Here she . . ." Valendrian's voice tailed off as a single, male voice rose above the noise of the crowd. It was deep, human and all-too familiar.  
"Well, well, well, what do we have here? Looks like they started the party without us, lads. I guess we'll have to make up for lost time. Perhaps the birthday girl can help with that." Laughing like a maniac, he grabbed the nearest women, trapping her in his grasp.  
"Is it you maybe?" Frantically, she shook her head, eyes never leaving the ground.  
"No, my lord."  
"Shame. I reckon you would have been a good time." Throwing her aside, he made his way through the crowd, grabbing anyone and everyone. The fear was back, tainting my every bone as I curled up in a corner, tucking my head into my chest, doing all I could think of to remain unseen. We wouldn't tell him. No-one would say anything, and then he would leave. We'd all be fine. Everything would be okay. We'd all be okay.  
"Who is it, knife-ears?!" A harsh thud echoed around the surrounding area, closely followed by a cry and the sound of a single body colliding with the floor. Risking a glance upwards, my blood ran cold. Alarith lay on the floor, curled into a ball to protect himself. They were hurting my friend - my only friend. Because of me. Slowly, I rose to my feet, curling my toes into the dirt, before I began the journey forwards.  
"It's me. I'm the b-birthday girl." Our gaze met and, once more, I was a slave to terror. My knees locked in place. It was the only thing I could do to prevent a collapse. His boot left Alarith's side and began to tread in my direction alternatively with it's counterpart.  
"Well, you're a brave one. Or maybe you're just too stupid to know what is going to happen." Laughing heartily, he grasped my arm, pulling at my flesh harshly.  
"I-I'm not s-s-stupid. I-I know w-what's going to happen. I j-just hoped if I-I stepped forwards y-you'd l-l-leave the others alone." All noise stopped as his eyes widened in disbelief. And with good reason. No-one had ever stood up to him before. I was the first. And, by the looks of things, I was going to be the last.  
"What did you say, bitch? Did you just answer back? Did you dare to speak to me?! DO YOU DARE ARGUE WITH ME?!" Once again, his hand met my face with a skull-rattling force. I flew backwards, my head colliding with the trunk of the Vhenadahl. Anyone else would have been knocked unconscious. But I had been trained to fight, no matter the circumstances. My vision swam in front of my eyes as my gaze lowered to the ground, but I persevered. As the world around me became sharper, I became aware of the distance between myself and the young Arl. He was bragging, announcing what he planned to do to my unconscious body. And no-one could do anything. No-one but me. Holding in a cry of pain and using the tree as a support, I rose to a standing position. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I began to run. I heard shouting, his shouting, but I paid it no heed. The gate was still open. He hadn't shut it. That was where I was going. I didn't know the city - I'd never left the Alienage - but Maker be damned if I was going to let him take me. They wouldn't get me. They wouldn't make me live through my mother's fate.

My bare feet slammed against the cobblestone, each sole torn and bloody. I had been running for what felt like hours, my slight form greatly increasing my speed and agility. Had I been give the proper training, I would have been the perfect assassin. Or at least, that's what I had been told. My stamina was high and my ability to climb the highest buildings and trees would have been a great asset to any guild. Thats what people had often remarked. I had ignored them before. My skills had been a normal part of my life and there had no been much use for them in the Alienage. Now, I was thanking the Maker with every step I took. All thoughts stopped when I reached a brick wall, perfect and new. There were no broken bricks and not a single crack to be found. It was an obstacle and one that was impossible to maneuver around. The shouts echoing behind me were enough to prove that back-tracking wasn't an available option. I was trapped, like a piece of meat. There were no doubts in my mind that he saw me as such anyway. Still charged from the chase, my head whipped from side to side, searching for something, anything to use against them. My hand had closed around it when they appeared in the alleyway, all of them charging towards me with their swords drawn. Within moments, instinct took over. One moment, I was cowering by the wall, my hands held close to my chest for protection. The next, I was amidst their group, my make-shift swinging with deadly accuracy. Screams filled the air and blood covered the alley. The smell of rusting metal filled my nose and my hands were wet and warm. There was so much red, so much scarlet fluid. It was everywhere - all over the walls, the floor, me and, most of all, the five bodies that now lay in front of me. Four lords and the Arl of Denerim - they all lay dead on the cold, hard floor. The sound of footsteps caught my attention, frantic footsteps getting closer with every passing second. Then they were there, right in front of me. The captain of the guard, the arl's bodyguard, Valendrian, Alarith and my father. No-one moved. No-one spoke. No-one needed to. Everyone's gaze was centered on the jagged, blood-covered rock I held in my right hand, the tip still dripping with the crimson liquid.  
"I'm sorry," I whispered softly, tears gathering in my eyes. "I didn't mean to. He scared me. I was so scared. I'm sorry." Then reality came back to me and I fell to the floor, the sobs tearing through my body as easily as the rock had torn through flesh. I could hear them shouting, feel them pulling me to my feet. Valendrian was arguing with the guards, trying to get them to leave me alone, trying to convince them I was mentally unstable. Maybe I was. Alarith soon joined in. Yet my father said nothing. I risked a glance upwards. He was staring, not at me, but through me, almost as though I didn't exist.  
"What do you think, elf? She's your daughter, isn't she?" Stiffly, he nodded, turning to face the guard who had spoken.  
"I think . . . I think she is perfectly stable. She knew exactly what she was doing and she deserves any fate that comes her way. I will be fully supportive of anything you choose to do to her." Both of the other elves let out gasps of shock and horror. It was a moment before it sunk in, and, when it did, a fresh wave of tears hit my already shaking form. My own father had sentenced me to a life of torture, one that could only end in death. It was then I realised that my father hated me, detested the abomination I was. It was only at that moment that I realised how much resentment my 'father' had towards me, the half-human, half-elf creature that had been born from the rape of my mother that had taken place twenty-one years ago.


	3. Chapter 2

The cell was small and the torch outside shed light on everything. There was nowhere to hide from the guards leering expression, nowhere to escape the constant remarks and gibes. This cell had been my home for four days now. They gave you five days to settle down. It was only after that time period that the torture began. The guard had found great delight in relay every detail, from the length of the knives used to the survival rates. He had said that I hadn't needed to worry about that though - they'd make sure I didn't die. They had five sentences to deliver. Killing me after one would ruin the fun, he had said. I had a whole lifetime of torture ahead of me. Tomorrow would be the last day that my sanity was permitted inside my body. I would have to lose it if I was to survive. Madness was an amazing healer. Or a simple way of escape. Perhaps I would turn to suicidal tendencies with insanity. One could only hope.  
"Oi, knife-ears! You listening? You've got visitors!" Cautiously, my eyes drifted up to the people behind the bars, not daring to get my hopes up, lest I fall for another cruel trick. But he was telling the truth. On the other side of the iron door stood Valendrian, his face troubled with worry. Beside him stood a human I had never before seen in my life. Or what little of it I had experienced. His hair was long, a trait as uncommon as my grey eyes. His eyes were brown, deep and mysterious. His face held the shadow of a beard. The armor his form was clad in looked expensive, dwarven most probably. He was handsome. Even the elven half of me wasn't shying away in disgust. But he was still a male human. And he was staring at me, his gaze fixated on my form.  
"V-Valendrian, what are you d-doing here?" For a moment, his face was twisted in confusion at my nervousness, but he soon noticed the direction of his companion's gaze. A few muttered words, a quick nod, and the human was facing the other direction respectfully. A sigh of relief escaped as I slowly made my way towards the bars, careful to keep to the left, towards Valendrian.  
"Why are you here, Elder? I thank you for your visit, but I have no doubt that you have a reason." Nodding, he motioned to his friend.  
"This is Duncan. He's a Grey Warden, Xirabo, and he wishes to recruit you into the order."  
"I was unaware that they allowed murderers to join their ranks."  
"You're no murderer, Xirabo. It was self-defence." Smiling sadly, I shook my head.  
"It doesn't matter how many times we say it, Elder. I am a murderer to everyone else. Besides, why would the Grey Wardens want me anyway?" It was at this point that the human, Duncan, turned back to the cell. Instantly, I retreated backwards, looking down in an attempt to conceal my face. I regretted it almost immediately. My behaviour merely gave him more ammunition against me. Yet, he said nothing about it, choosing instead to answer my voiced question.  
"The Grey Wardens consist of fighters. The . . . event merely showed to talent you hold. To carry out such clean deaths with a fragment of stone, well, the circumstances speak for themselves. We need fighters like you, Xirabo. I am asking you now, formally: do you wish to join the Grey Wardens?" My breathing was heavy with fright, even though I knew it was impossible for him to get to me. By the Maker, Valendrian trusted him. That should have been good enough for anyone. But it wasn't. I couldn't bring myself to trust him.  
"H-how w-w-would I join the G-Grey Wardens when I h-have a life sentence to serve?"  
"Joining the Grey Wardens will abolish your sentence. You will be cleared of anything you may or may not have done." I fell silent, hardly believing what I was hearing. After everything I had done, after I had taken five human lives, I was allowed to leave and spend my life doing the thing I did best?  
"Please, Xirabo," Valendrian begged. "Please take the opportunity. Your father may have cast you off but I have not. You are like a daughter to me. Don't make me leave here knowing I leave you to die the most painful death imaginable. Please accept, for me if not yourself." Inhaling deeply, I turned to him.  
"You're sure this is the right thing to do?" Confidently, he nodded. Eyes downcast, my body turned to face the hum . . . Duncan.  
"I accept y-your offer, shem." Within moments, the door was unbolted and I was being pulled from my prison by Valendrian. He wasted no time in pulling me into his arms. Hesitantly, I returned the gesture, my cheeks dampening once more.  
"Thank you, Elder. Thank you." He pulled back, hearing the tears in my voice.  
"It's okay, Pip. It's over now. Come on - it's time to leave." Nodding, I followed him through the door, trailing a few paces behind, but eager to get to freedom. Still, I did not relax, my gaze permanently trained on the strangely good-looking Grey Warden that had been so undeniably kind. For no apparent reason.

My bags were packed, courtesy of Alarith (I hadn't felt the need to face my father), my blades rested on my back comfortingly and almost everyone had arrived for the good-byes, all of which had been carried out. It was time for me to leave. After all, the guards hadn't willingly let me go. I had had to be conscripted actually. It would be wrong and highly antagonising if I attempted to outstay my welcome. Becoming a Grey Warden may have allowed me to escape jail, but it didn't make me untouchable. All that was left was to wait for the remainder of our travelling companions. There would be females. I hoped so anyway. It wouldn't be as bad that way.  
"Sir, w-when are the others d-due to arrive?" He spun around faster than I thought possible, startling me into leaping backwards. His face softened at my reactions.  
"My apologies. I didn't mean to startle you. Valendrian mentioned your aversion to others, particularly human men."  
"I-it's okay." Chuckling, he shook his head gently.  
"Your tone says otherwise, Xirabo. But regarding your question, what others?" A black cloud began to crawl across my mind, dark thoughts creeping into every corner.  
"The o-others t-t-that are travelling with u-us. The ones we're w-waiting for." Once again, his head turned from left to right alternatively.  
"There isn't anyone travelling with us. We're simply waiting for the captain to arrive with the documents required to officially end your sentence."  
"You mean . . . i-it's just going t-to be us? O-on our own? No! No, I can't do this! You can't make me!" I had thought I had been scared before. Nothing had a patch on the terror attaching itself to my being at the moment. I was to travel with a human. A male human. Alone. No-one there to help. No-one there to hear my screams. The screams I knew were sure to come the moment a camp was set up.  
"Xirabo, you need to calm down . . ."  
"No! I won't go! You can't make me!"  
"Please, listen to me. I know you're scared . . ."  
"YOU CAN'T MAKE ME GO! I'D RATHER DIE!"  
"XIRABO!" Wincing, I turned to face my fellow elf that stood at the door. Valendrian was staring at me in disbelief and anger, another one of my forgotten belongings held in his hands.  
"Hello, Elder," I whispered, regret colouring my tone. Duncan may have been a human, but he was Valendrian's friend. He had every right to be angry at me.  
"What are you yelling about?! Are you not happy to be out of that place?!"  
"He expects me to travel with him without anyone else! I can't do that, Elder! I won't be able to handle it! You know that! Please, there has to be another way!" Slowly, an elfin hand grasped my chin as eyes bored into my own.  
"I know it's going to be hard for you, Pip. But would you rather be rotting in a jail cell, waiting for them to begin the torture?" He was right. He was always right, no matter the situation.  
"But . . . what if . . ." A single finger pressed against my lips.  
"I know Duncan. He's a good man. You'll be safe with him, I promise. He's nothing like the arl or those lords. Nothing will happen to you, Xirabo, I swear it. I promised your mother I would keep you safe and I intend to keep that promise. You just need to trust me." My lips remained sealed, not even a twitch of movement touched them. Valendrian sighed and began to walk away. That's when I said it.  
"Okay."  
"Pardon?" I stared at the floor, my voice not lifting above a whisper.  
"I said, okay. I trust you, Valendrian. Please, don't let this be in vain." Once again, I was wrapped in a pair of arms.  
"Thank you, Pip. I promise you'll love the road. And who knows, maybe you'll come back married." Laughing quietly, I shook my head.  
"Let's not try to imagine the impossible, Valendrian. I'm going to miss you."  
"I'll miss you too, Pip." Our moment was broken by a loud knock. The outrage behind it was evident from here. That could mean only one thing - the captain was here.

It was done. An icy sneer danced across his face as the head of the guard glared at me.  
"Enjoy your freedom, elf," he spat. "It won't last long - that I can guarantee. You creatures never change." I had barely opened my mouth when Duncan spoke.  
"You shouldn't assume everyone is the same, Captain. You do not know her and I would appreciate it greatly if you were not to speak ill of my fellow Grey Warden again. Now, if that is all, you may leave." Growling, the guard did just that, slamming the door hard enough for it to have been heard in Tower of Magi. I simply stared up in shock at the annoyance in his tone, averting my eyes when his flicked to my face. He had stood up for me. He had almost invited the captain of the guard to start a verbal fight over me. And he was on my side. But I did not have time to ponder on trivial matters. That would come later, when at camp. For now, it was time to leave Denerim. The stroll through the city was brisk and paced, as though Duncan couldn't wait to be out of the city. Maybe he couldn't. Everywhere we went, people pointed and whispered behind their hands, all essence of subtlety forgotten. And they weren't always pointing at me. A part of me begged to ask why, but I shied away. I had meant what I had said - I trusted Valendrian completely. That didn't mean I had the same feelings towards Duncan, no matter what he did. We reached the gate in almost no time at all.  
"Well, Pip, this is it." I merely nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I need to stay strong, if not for Valendrian, for myself. Composing myself, my gaze met his.  
"I'll miss you, Xirabo. It'll be a lot quieter without you around. May the Maker watch over you both."  
"May He watch over us all," I muttered. "Good-bye, Valendrian. I'll never forget what you've done for me. Allow me to say thank you . . . for the last time." With a nervous nod in Duncan's direction, I turned and walked away from the city, away from my home. I could feel everything that had happened there slipping away slowly, almost as though the memories were dying off slowly. Yet, I wasn't afraid. Maybe it was adrenaline, I don't know. The only thing I was aware of was that, out in the open space, with only Duncan for protection, where anything could attack us, I felt something close to safety. But then again, it could have been my imagination. Why would I feel safe with a human?


	4. Chapter 3

We'd been on the road for seven days now. But we weren't on our way to Ostagar. Duncan had some business to attend to in Orzammar, so that's where we heading. There was approximately a two week journey left. Although we had only been on the road a week, I found myself drawn to him. I would often catch myself staring at him no matter the circumstances. Whether he was building the fire, or cooking, or even just staring into the flames, there would always be something that caught my eye. He was unlike any human I had ever met. He would talk to me and ask me questions, but he never got angry if I didn't reply. He never made me sit near to him, or be around him. In fact, he never forced me to do anything. It was as though he believed me to be his equal. But it wasn't just these peculiarities that made him . . . attractive. More often than not, I would end up staring into his eyes if our gaze met, having to catch myself moments later. My attention was sometimes drawn to his lips when he spoke. The way they moved seemed . . . captivating somehow. When he hunted, I was stunned into silence at the quiet tread he had mastered. He was amazing. But every time I was affected in this way, there was a voice in the back of my head that reminded me, in a scolding tone, that he was still a human. Eventually however, curiosity got the better of me. It was on the night of this seventh day when I finally spoke up.  
"Why do you do it?" His head jolted up and, like before, I flinched. But not as violently as I had on the first day.  
"What do you mean?"  
"You . . . You're . . ." I bit my lip, struggling to find the words I was searching for. He grinned in amusement at my indecisiveness.  
"I'm what, Xirabo?" Once again, I was staring at his eyes. Shaking my head, ridding my being of the distraction, I concentrated on the task at hand.  
"You're always nice to me. You never make me do anything I don't want to. You treat me as if I'm equal to you. I want to know why. I don't understand. No human has ever done that before." One eyebrow raised as he stepped away from the fire and sat on the opposite side to myself.  
"You wouldn't prefer it that way, would you?"  
"Of course not!"  
"Then why do you sound disappointed?" That was a good question. Silence fell over us as I considered the question.  
"I . . . I don't know. I think that, maybe, it might be because it makes it hard for me to hate you." Confusion flickered across his features at my reply.  
"Would you care to elaborate?"  
"It's just . . . every other human man I have encountered has been the same. They all want one thing. We were dolls, play-things they could discard at any given moment if they so wished," I explained. "But you . . . you treat me like a person. You're good to me. I was so sure at the beginning that I was going to hate you, just like I had hated any and every other human man. So, I suppose you could say I was disappointed because I was wrong." Hesitantly, my lips turned up as I sent him a small smile from across the blazing logs. He didn't return it. He just stared. The slight feeling of joy disappeared as quickly as it had entered.  
"D-did I do something wrong?" Glancing up at me, he shook his head.  
"No, you didn't do anything. I just realised . . . that's the first time I've ever seen you smile."  
"I suppose it is," I answered, the expression making a reappearance. He stared at me for a moment longer before his lips copied my own.  
"You should smile more often, you know." Instantly, my eyes slid to the ground as my cheeks darkened. It was only slight, but it was there. That had never happened before. Not because of the words spoken by a human man anyway.  
"I think I was wrong about you, Duncan. The things I did and said at our first meeting . . . I'm sorry."  
"It's okay, Xirabo. I've already forgiven you." Those words . . . why did they sound so sincere? Did he truly mean them? This man . . . he was like nothing I'd ever known before. He was so different, yet I liked that about him. I seemed to like a lot of things about him. This feeling . . . what was it?  
"I have a question for you, if you don't mind answering, Xirabo."  
"What question?" I asked curiously, my eyes narrowing in suspicion. Nothing good came of having to ask if it was permitted to ask a question.  
"You no longer stutter around me, unless you are unsure of which word to use. Why?" Once again, I was struck down by the truth in his observation. I hadn't even noticed myself. Why didn't I stutter? Or rather, an easier question was, why did I usually stutter? I thought back to every instance and memories of fear and terror washed over me. But there was something else too - an underlying feeling of distrust. But that could only mean . . . but it had taken me years to become accustomed to Valendrian . . . yet there was no other explanation.  
"I think . . . I think it's because I no longer fear you. I think . . . that I . . . I trust you, Duncan. I don't know how, but I do."  
"I see. Thank you, Xirabo. Valendrian . . . he told me of your distrust towards many and to know that I am no longer one of them . . . it is a relief of sorts." Nodding to him in recognition, I grasped at the covering to my left, wrapping it around my body as I retreated to my tent for the night. But this time, this time it felt different. As though his eyes had been on me the entire time. Just as mine usually fell on to his form. This feeling . . . was it affecting him too?

I began to open up to Duncan after our discussion at the fire. For days on end, we played my new favourite game - Question, Answer. Not a very original name, but both of us got to know each other a lot better than either of us had originally planned. I found out he was from Highever, that his family had moved to Orlais when he was younger, and that he had been forced to turn to thievery to survive. In turn, he found out about my fighting abilities, my relationships (or lack thereof) with the other elves in my Alienage, and my being half-human. Thankfully, he did not pry further into that topic, choosing instead to change the subject of conversation with a new question. It wasn't just the past we talked about either. Each told the other what they wished to do in the future, near or far-off. When I told Duncan of my want to be either a duelist or hired assassin, the laughter I had expected did not come. Instead, he nodded, commenting that both suited myself and the abilities I possessed. Though he did laugh when I was attempting to guess his age. Apparently, my guesses were far too low. As it turns out, he was older than me by quite a wide margin. Not that it showed, a truth I gladly relayed to him. Day by day passed until the night that started it all was nine days in the past. Once again, we sat by the fire. But tonight, not everything was the same. Instead of making my way to the opposite side like normal, I walked slowly up to where Duncan was sitting, lowering myself on to the ground next to him.  
"Hello again." Never before have I seen Duncan startled the way he was then. He near enough fell into the fire he had been tending. Laughing softly at his reaction, I reached out a hand to steady him. Another . . . anomaly. Physical contact, even as a helping hand, had never been my forte, yet now, it just seemed natural.  
"Please refrain from doing that whilst I'm next to the fire. Maker help me. What am I going to do with you?"  
"Feed me and put up with me." Chuckling, he raised a hand to my face, ruffling my hair as best he could. Huffing, I pouted, attempting to rearrange my assaulted fringe.  
"You don't flinch anymore."  
"Huh?" Surprised, I turned back to the raven-haired Warden.  
"When I raise a hand or turn sharply. You don't flinch anymore." It didn't take long for me to realise the truth in his words.  
"I guess you're right. I suppose it's because I trust you. For some reason." Grinning, his hand was once again raised to my cheek, this time to pin my fringe behind my ear. My hand covered his, but didn't try to remove it. We sat like that for what seemed like an age, each seemingly entranced by the other.  
"I love your eyes. They're beautiful, Xirabo. As much as the hair style suits you, you shouldn't hide them," he whispered gently, his thumb dancing over my reddening cheeks.  
"Thank you," I replied, my voice as low as his own. I had never been this close to someone in this way. Well, not voluntarily. It was strange, but it felt . . . right, like it was meant to happen.

**_He's human_**

The voice was calling out, it's tone full of foreboding. I knew I had to listen. Hastily, I pulled away, shuffling backwards before actually standing up.  
"Uh . . . it's getting late and I should probably . . . get to bed . . . so . . . uh . . ." Shaking his head in amusement, his eyes met mine.  
"Good night, Xirabo." But something was wrong. His eyes, though sincere, didn't seem to glow like the other nights.

To say that things were awkward in the morning would have been the biggest understatement of the Age. We still spoke, but sentences were short, as though we both wanted to avoid any interaction with the other. Or maybe it was just me. That was the most probable excuse. Withdrawal . . . it was a practice I had been carrying out since my childhood years. Maybe it was coming back into play. Perhaps it was bored of hiding in a corner. It didn't matter. The urge to hide . . . it was coming back. And it was a hard force to fight. So we walked in silence, the occasional gasp as he moved to swiftly, the flinch that instinctively took over when his hand raised. Once again, I sat on the opposite side of the fire, closer than usual. We were in the Frostback Mountains, and it was a lot colder up here than it was in Denerim. It was colder here than anywhere else I had ever been. Not that I'd been a lot of place before this journey.  
"What's wrong, Xirabo? Everything . . . everything has gone back to the day we started. What happened?" Cautiously, I looked up, taking in his let-down expression.  
"I don't know, sir. Maybe . . . maybe I j-just remembered my place." Sighing in exasperation, he rose and strode to my side, bending his knees until we were level.  
"Please, don't let this start again. I'm not going to hurt you. You know that. Whatever I did, I'm sorry. But . . . don't think that I'm anyone to fear. Please."  
"I'll try . . . Duncan." Smiling, he grasped my chin, silently and gently instructing me to look him in the eyes.  
"There was no stuttering that time. I guess the trust hasn't completely disappeared then." Slowly, I shook my head, completely and utterly lost in his eyes. Again. The voice, it was still there, but I ignored it. I'd hurt Duncan last time. I couldn't let that happen again. Hesitantly, my hand raised, stopping multiple times before it came to rest on his cheek, softly and barely touching.  
"Why am I feeling like this?" I murmured, my gaze never leaving his face.  
"I don't know. Do you want the feeling to stop?" Moving forwards, I rested my forehead against his own, my eyelids fluttering closed, my breathing heavy with uncertainty.  
"I don't know." Pulling back, I sat for a moment before making a decision. Laying down, I rested my head on his knee, curling into a ball by the fire, warm and, though slight nervous, content.  
"You're warm, Duncan," I muttered, shifting to get comfortable. The only response I got was a hand stroking the back of my head.  
"Sleep well, Xirabo."


	5. Chapter 4

Two days later, we were in Orzammar. It was dark, hot due to the factories and machines, and full of the sound of laughter emitting from the taverns. I loved it. Apparently, Duncan hadn't expected me to.  
"I'll always be right there, okay, Xirabo?" He had said. I was awestruck by the high ceiling, the buildings that were so similar yet so different at the same time. Even the shops were well decorated stalls. And the things they held! They were unlike anything I'd ever seen before! Armor so new, light reflected from the surface. Rings so extravagant, they looked far too heavy for one finger. A display of so many different potions and poisons that it was a miracle they remembered which was which. But the object that caught my eye the most was a beautiful silver amulet, the outside ring holding eight cut sapphires, all arranged in a circular pattern. It was amazing. But all-too expensive, especially for someone from an Alienage. Someone like me. I knew it was wrong of me to desire frivolities, especially when we had more important items to acquire and stock up on, but I couldn't help myself. Still, there was no point in focusing on the impossible. I was skipping through the main street when it happened. Duncan had business with the dwarven monarch, so I was on my own. Not that I minded. I was admiring a blade at the time. Then the shout went up.  
"STOP THAT NUG!" Spinning around, I saw a small pink . . . creature running towards Dust Town, angry dwarf in tow. No-one else stopped to help, all choosing instead to laugh. It kind of reminded me what they used to do in the Alienage. What they used to do to me. In a split second, I made the decision. Pushing off the floor, I sprinted at the pink beast, tackling it to the ground, pinning it beneath my weight. Luckily it wasn't that strong. It wasn't long before the dwarf had reached my position.  
"Thanks, elf. I've lost so many today; that was my last one. I'm sticking with normal nugs next time. Here, hold it's legs and I'll bag it." Soon, the task was done. The dwarf held out his free hand, the other occupied with the struggling bag. Reluctantly, I held out the other, just as Duncan had told me to do. However, instead of warm flesh, I felt cool metal.  
"Here. Twelve silver ought to be enough."  
"You . . . You're giving me money?" Snorting, the dwarf hefted the bag over his shoulder.  
"'Course. What were you expecting? A handshake?" Embarrassed, I nodded. He laughed, but not unkindly.  
"I'm guessing you're from one of those city places then. How about this, you find the rest of my nugs - I had ten originally - and I'll pay you twelve silver for each one you bring back." My eyes lit up in excitement. I may not have been the most intelligent, but I could do simple math. Providing I found every lost nug, I would have just enough to buy the silver amulet. And so, with another wistful glance towards the jewelry stall, my quest began.

Nothing was ever easy, but nug-wrangling was almost impossible. Sure, I'd caught the first one with ease. But, then again, it hadn't been running from me. When they were, Maker help you. For something so small, they certainly knew how to run. And jump. And escape. And be total bastards. I ran back and forth, through Dust Town and the main street alternatively, trying to corner this creature. There were many apologies, a lot of falls and enough swearing to last me a lifetime. But, finally, at the end of the day, I had turned in another six nugs. His lips lifted like there was no tomorrow, my 'employer' of a sorts (Boermor I think his name was) happily handed me the seventy-two silver.  
"Only three more to get, girl. You're good at this! I'll see you tomorrow, right, elf?" Smiling, I nodded, brushing the remaining dust from within the crevices of the armor Duncan had given me.  
"Then good night, my nug-wrangling friend." With a spring in my step, I all but bounced back to the inn, the grin on my face not faltering for a second. Until I actually walked into the building.  
"There you are!" Instantly, I was engulfed in a strong pair of arms, a familiar aura surrounding me. Duncan. I reciprocated the gesture for a moment, but then I pulled back. Not out of fear, but confusion.  
"What's wrong? Has something happened?"  
"Has something happened?! Xirabo, I've been looking for you for the past half an hour! Do you know how late it is?!"  
"Well, there's no sky, so no." Shaking his head in disbelief, he buried his face in his hands, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.  
"That's what we have clocks for! `Look, that doesn't matter now. But where were you? You're covered in bruises!" He was still irritated, but not as much. My lips turned up rapidly as I told him about my day, from my helping out the Boermor to the amulet that fueled it all. That was described in great detail, from the great craftsmanship it bore to the beauty held in the blue gemstones. It didn't matter if I was describing the skills of the nugs, or the various falls I'd had, it alway came back to the jeweled necklace. It had been late when I had arrived at the inn, but it was much later when I actually retired to bed, still charged from the days exercise. But I needed my rest - I had another full day tomorrow.

And a full day it was. I had gotten the hang of catching them now - I'd figured out a few tricks - but now, with only three of them left, there were a lot of places for them to hide. I spent most of my given time searching for them. That didn't mean I wasn't tearing around the streets of Orzammar too. One of the nugs . . . well, lets just say I think I would have received less bruises if I had repeatedly hit myself with a forge hammer. But, eventually, the last nug was bagged and I was on my way back to Boermor. That's when I noticed it. The jewelry store was there, but the amulet wasn't. Instead, there was an empty space, the wooden table almost taunting me with the sight. As childish as it was, tears sprung to my eyes as, defeated, I trailed sadly back to where Boermor waited. He went to hand over the remainder of the money, but I waved him away.  
"It's okay. I don't need it anymore. I was saving up for something, but . . ." My voice drifted of, my sadness apparent to anyone who walked by. Still, he persisted, insisting I take it anyway. Soon, I caved in, but the upset didn't go away. Biting my lip, I stared at the floor, hating the fact that I was wrapped up in despair because of a necklace. I had never had one, nor did I need it, yet for some ridiculous reason, I couldn't get the stupid object out of my mind.  
"Xirabo!" Turning, I saw Duncan sprinting towards my position in the middle of the street.  
"You were obviously deep in thought. I've been calling you for the past minute."  
"Oh, sorry." Smirking, he waved a hand dismissively.  
"It's okay. It happens to everyone." His eyes scanned my face when I didn't reply, the grin dropping from his lips.  
"What's wrong? And if you say 'it's nothing', Maker help you." I laughed a little, but the sound was full of unhappiness. It was unreasonable to feel this much grief over something that did nothing but look pretty. Yet I did.  
"It's not much. It's just . . . do you remember the amulet I told you about?"  
"How could I forget? You could have written a book on it right there and then. What about it?"  
"It . . ." I inhaled deeply, trying to control my emotions. My eyes closed, an attempt to conceal the water forming within them. I felt a hand on the back of my neck, along with something else, something colder and almost metallic . . . My eyelids flew open as I stared at the silver amulet that now hung around my neck.  
"I was going to wait until we got back to camp tonight, but I couldn't stand seeing you upset like that." My fingertips traced the patterns, gliding over the gemstones embedded in the precious metal. All traces of sadness had washed away, replaced instead by an overpowering joy. One that appeared to be catching. The smile that adorned Duncan's face almost matched my own expression. Almost. My arms seemed to have a mind of their own as they draped around his neck, pulling him as close as I could.  
"Thank you," I whispered, resting my head in his neck. His hands enveloped my waist as, slowly, he lent down to my ear.  
"You're welcome." We broke apart moments later as a wolf-whistle echoed throughout the surrounding area. Or rather, to be more realistic, I pushed him off, retreating a few paces with scarlet cheeks, glaring at the dwarf responsible. Again with the blushing. What was wrong with me?!

The mountain pass seemed colder than ever before, even with the fire roaring in front of me. Maybe I should have kept my armor on. It currently lay to my left. I contemplated putting it on now, but it was icy to the touch. No, I'd deal with that obstacle in the morning. I could feel the heat radiating from the fire, helped by the covering adorning my shoulders, yet I continued to shiver, over and over again.  
"Are you okay?"  
"I'm fine, Duncan." My reply was short and to the point. I'd been that way since the 'incident' in Orzammar. Once again, I was making everything awkward. Just like the other night.  
"Are you going to be like this every time something like that happens?" Well, damn it.  
"I didn't think you had noticed."  
"How could I not? Xirabo, you need to stop doing this. So we ended up in a . . . strange situation. Just forget about it, okay?" Suddenly furious, I rose to my feet rapidly, storming over to where he was sitting.  
"I can't! Is that so hard for you to understand?! I try and I try, but I can't do it! And it scares me! Why can't I forget?! Why won't my mind let me forget?! WHY DON'T I WANT TO FORGET?!" Carefully, he stood up, walking over to me with a soft tread that I instantly recognised. It was a hunter's tread, silent and, often, deadly. Wide eyed, I backtracked, making it a few paces before his fingers wrapped around my wrist, pulling me forwards once more.  
"Duncan . . . l-let go. P-p-please."  
"No." Fear spread like a wildfire, but it travelled with a feeling of intense trust. Here he was, holding me as the arl had done, yet I still trusted him, still believed he wouldn't hurt me. I just hoped I was right.  
"What are you d-doing?"  
"You need to stop doing this! I can't . . . I can't deal with this! So you don't want to forget! So what?! Neither do I!" A breath escaped, one I hadn't realised I was holding in.  
"Y-you don't?" He released my arm as, defeated, his hand fell to his side.  
"No. I never even considered the notion for a second." I was lost for words, confused and ashamed. I hadn't even thought that I may have been affecting him. He seemed so . . . crushed. I'd never seen him this way. In the three weeks that I'd known him, he'd always been strong, a supportive pillar, never caving in. Not any longer.  
"I'm sorry, Duncan. I . . . I didn't mean to hurt you."  
"I know," he answered, his voice gaining strength again as he spoke.  
"If there's anything I can do . . ." My voice tailed off as his head snapped up. An instant mood change . . . but why . . .  
"Close your eyes. Don't open them, no matter what happens," he murmured, stepping forwards, his hands resting on my shoulders comfortingly. I did as he asked, but not before sending him a questioning look. My eyelids closed and blackness encased me, effectively creating an barrier between myself and reality. Until I felt breath ghost across my cheeks which instantly reddened at the feeling. But I didn't open my eyes. Inch by inch, his hands moved to my waist, holding me gently as he pulled me forwards. I could feel the heat radiating from his body as he came closer still. There was no distance between us now. None. My breathing was heavy with anticipation. Yet nothing happened.  
"Are you okay with this, Xirabo?" Still, I waited. The quiet only seemed to increase the fire-like feeling that seemed to charge my being, taking over. Taking control.  
"Please, Duncan," I whispered.  
"As you wish." Then his lips were on mine, a sensation of completeness spreading throughout my very soul. My hands moved of their own accord, skimming the plates of his armor before tangling in his hair, while his drew circles along my spine, getting lower each time. My lips parted as he pulled away, my eyelids half-closed, my undershirt caught up at the back due to his previous actions. A cold wind stabbed at the soft skin that rested there, but the shiver was instinct. My mind was elsewhere, reliving the moments that had just passed by.  
"Xirabo, I'm . . . I'm sorry." Blinking rapidly, I spun to face him.  
"What?"  
"I said that I'm sorry. I don't know what . . . came over me. It was improper for me to carry out such actions." I was stunned. After all the time he had spent complaining at me for withdrawing from him, he was attempting the same.  
"This had better be a joke, Duncan."  
"Why would I be joking when giving an apology?" Throwing my hands up in exasperation, I grabbed my covering from the floor and stormed to the opposite side of the fire.  
"You are just unreal." With that, I lay down to sleep, trying to ignore the guilt that pounded at my skull.


	6. Chapter 5

It was a long journey to Ostagar. The road from Orzammar to Redcliff was blocked by a large amount of impassable debris. Thus, the journey to Ostagar, Duncan estimated, would take about a month. That was the last thing he had said to me, and that had been two days ago. I had been five days since the incident. Five days since we'd kissed. Five days since we'd willingly been within five feet of each other. And it was killing me. I knew I was in the wrong. I knew that I shouldn't have yelled. I knew why he had done what he had. It was all my fault - this was obvious - but I just didn't know how to fix this. A word of advice at this point: when deep in thought, ensure to watch where you're walking. My foot, instructed to walk forwards mindlessly, caught on a large rock, sending me tumbling to the ground. The fall wasn't bad. What caused problems was the gash the jagged stone tore into my flesh, just above the top of my armored boots. I cried out as I collapsed, blood pouring from the deep slash.  
"Xirabo!" Duncan appeared at my side moments later, his face bearing nothing but concern. His fingertips traced the outline of the cut, causing me to wince at the action.  
"By the Maker that hurts. I guess this is karma, huh?"  
"Don't joke about things like that." Without another word, he scooped me into his arms, setting me down on a conveniently nearby tree stump in order to extract the bandages from his pack. Even the feel of the white material on the wound was enough to make my bottom lip tremble.  
"Can you walk?" The empty tone was back. I winced again, but this time, the pain didn't factor into the equation. Until I put a little weight onto my leg. I stared up at him from my new place on the floor.  
"Do I still need to answer?" He stayed silent as his arms hooked under my legs and around my waist.  
"So, you're going to carry me to Ostagar, are you?" His head shook as he glanced at me in annoyance. Finally, a response.  
"So, you're going to be obnoxious, are you?" Well, no-one said it was going to be a positive response.  
"Do you always answer a question with a question?" His gaze met my own, the sadness from all those nights ago returning again.  
"Don't, Xirabo. Just . . . don't." Turning my head, I pressed my lips to his shoulder, very deliberately keeping my eyes on his the entire time. A slight flush rose to his cheeks as his breathing rate increased.  
"Stop it." I think even the Maker would have been surprised if I had listened. Over and over, I repeated my actions, leaving a glistening trail from collar-bone to jaw. With each kiss, his grip tightened and his breathing got heavier. More than once, his legs shuddered and he was forced to lean against a nearby tree to steady himself. Eventually, he gave it, sitting in the spot I'd abandoned. I didn't know why I was doing what I was, or what had happened to make him react this way, but I didn't want it to ever be over. And I didn't plan to let it. My body twisted as I changed position, one leg either side of his waist, continuing to drag my lips along his neck.  
"Xirabo, stop. W-we need to set up camp." Smirking, I drew back, scanning his face.  
"But do you really want this to end?" He didn't need to reply; the answer was evident on his face. It wouldn't have been anymore obvious if he was shouting it at me.  
"I thought as much." My hands pulled him towards me as I captured his mouth with my own. Our lips melded together perfectly like two puzzle pieces, each moving in flawless synchronization with the other. I had no control anymore and neither, it appeared, did he. His hands followed the curves of the chain mail I wore, not ceasing movement until he felt the bare skin that made an appearance below the armor. There he stopped, tracing invisible patterns that seemed to flow across my legs, skimming over the bandage as he followed the transparent lines. His palms danced their way along their path, leaving a burning trail behind; a trail that only left me wanting more. When a lack of oxygen demanded we stop, our lips disconnected with an obvious reluctance, the extremities in question raised and pink. Resting my forehead against his own, I tried to catch my breath before he had a chance to speak.  
"If you . . . if you apologise this time . . . I swear, I will . . . I will kill you."  
"I wouldn't . . . dream of it. Now, we . . . really do have to set up camp." And, still breathing heavily, he hoisted me into his arms once more, leading us to a nearby clearing.

Needless to say, we were on speaking terms again. It was as though nothing had changed. For the worse anyway. An added bonus was that I had found a most amusing game to play whilst the camp was being set up, one that Duncan appeared to hate. I just had to sit there and wait until he looked over, then it could begin. Mostly, I just traced my lips over and over again, but occasionally, depending on my mood at the time, I threw another action in there too. Nothing vulgar - every move was innocent - and it worked. The reactions were small, but they were there. Each eye roll, every amused smile, gave me a sense of victory. But the best response of all was the expression he would send my way after a few rounds of my 'game'. It was eager, almost hungry, and it affected me in ways I couldn't explain. Still, I ignored this. Being distracted meant Duncan would most probably win my game. I wasn't going to let that happen. That would take all the fun out of it. And so we continued, grinning like children until the task was complete. Just like every other night, I slid out of my armor, curling up inside the sheet I used as a blanket, sitting as close to the fire as was possible.  
"Are you cold, Xirabo?" Looking up, I nodded slightly.  
"A little." Pushing off the ground, he relocated to the space to my left, holding me tight, his head resting gently on my own.  
"You won't be for much longer," he murmured. "I'll keep you warm." A comfortable silence settled over our two forms. But there was something I was dying to know.  
"Duncan, have you ever . . . been like this with someone else?"  
"Why are you asking?"  
"I was just . . . wondering."  
"Just wondering, huh?" I could tell by the tone of his voice that he didn't believe me, but, thankfully, he didn't press the matter.  
"No, I haven't. I've never had the . . . urge to."  
"But you have this 'urge' with me?" Our gaze locked on each other as I looked up at him.  
"More than you know." What was it about that sentence that had caused me to shiver so involuntarily? Or was it his tone, low and a perfect match for the expression he had worn earlier?  
"Is something wrong, Xirabo?"  
"Stop it. Stop using that tone. Now."  
"Just like you stopped earlier?" That's when I truly realised how much trouble I was in. Slamming my body left and right, I managed to escape his grasp. But now I had to stay free. My covering floated gently to the floor as I attempted to run away. That's when I remembered the injury that decorated my thigh. My body came crashing to the ground as he stood slowly, chuckling all the while. The journey over took time, his steps smaller and slower than usual. I wasn't stupid enough to believe it was accidental. A hand extended my way, almost like a peace offering. Like a fool, I took it. Within seconds, I had been pulled to my feet and wrapped in an embrace. It was innocent - just as my actions had been earlier (another thing I had begun to regret) - but it was firm, the strength behind the hold obvious. I had no hope in escaping. Maker help me.  
"Is there any point in asking you to let go?"  
"If you want to waste your breath, go ahead." His mouth pressed against my neck softly, lips slightly parted, barely touching the skin there. But the sensations from the touch were anything but subtle. Sparks flew from the point of contact, travelling the length of my body, igniting emotions I didn't know existed. My knees shook and it wasn't long before my legs gave out. Catching me with ease, Duncan didn't falter for a second, following the same path I had done earlier in the day. I couldn't concentrate on anything anymore. It took all of my willpower to focus on keeping my mouth shut, preventing anything - words or sounds - from escaping.  
"Do you want me to stop, Xirabo?" Noiselessly, I nodded. Blood droplets formed on my bottom lip, the pressure my teeth were applying becoming too much for the soft membrane.  
"But I wanted you to stop earlier. You didn't listen until you had changed my opinion. Surely it's only right I return the favour?"  
"Please, Duncan," I whispered, my voice full of desperation for the beautiful torture to end. "Please, stop. I . . . I can't handle this. Please." Sighing, he retreated, but barely, his arms still wrapped around my shaking form.  
"Sometimes I wish I was more stubborn. Giving in takes the fun out of everything."  
"That was giving in?!" Laughing, he helped me back to the fire, his hands drawing comforting circles on my side. I laid down as soon as I touched the ground, curling into a ball next to the flames. Duncan began to walk away, but I latched on to his hand, pulling him towards me.  
"I'll get cold again if you leave, you know." His eyes lit up in surprise, but sure enough, after removing his armor, he laid behind me, an arm curling around my waist, bringing me into his chest. Smiling, I twisted to face him, my head resting in the crook of his neck.  
"Good night, Duncan." He didn't reply, but he didn't need to. Laying here, I felt something I hadn't experienced in years. Along with the feelings of contentment, joy and elation, there was something else. For the first time in forever, I truly and honestly felt safe, wrapped up in Duncan's arms.


	7. Chapter 6

Groaning, I swiped at my eyes, blinking rapidly due to the harsh light.  
"Finally awake, I see." Duncan stood over me, grinning, his armor only half equipped, due to his struggle with one of the buckles. Sitting up slowly, traces of sleep still evident in my gaze, I motioned for him to come closer.  
"I'll do it." Gradually, he walked the remaining few paces, his hunter's tread coming into play once again until he knelt next to me. My fingers closed around the clasp, pulling on the leather strap roughly, jolting his shoulder in the process.  
"I'm not sure whether you're actually helping or attempting to remove my arm from it's socket." Smiling, I tugged harder, pulling repetitively on the fastening. Finally, it came loose, allowing me to combine the necessary parts together. But there were still several clasps to be done. So I took the liberty of doing them myself, each one lower than the next, ending at his stomach. I glanced up at his tinted face, unable to stop the comment rising in my throat.  
"Are you sure you can put your boots on the right feet?" Swiping at my head gently, he grabbed the items in question, pulling them on to prove a point.  
"What about you?" My head jolted up.  
"Huh?"  
"Can you put your armor on?" Raising an eyebrow, I nodded. Even so, he moved forwards, hands grasping my hips.  
"Are you sure? Because I'm more than happy to . . . help." His breath floated across my cheeks, taunting me with the caresses it gave, so light, yet so effective.  
"No, I'm sure I'll be fine."  
"I disagree." His fingers slid to my thighs, tracing the edge of the bandage that rested there, the tips trailing along the bare skin. Shuddering, I pushed against his chest, trying to put some distance between us. I failed. Miserably.  
"I thought you gave in easily?" I choked out, breathless from the emotions tearing through my form.  
"I decided to try something new. You don't approve?"  
"Not when you're doing this." Chuckling, his hands slid to the bottom of my undershirt, sliding beneath it with ease.  
"You love it," he whispered, the amusement in his voice tainted with . . . something else. His hands stroked at the soft membrane beneath them, extracting a whimper from me as I collapsed against his breastplate.  
"Why . . . why do you always do this when you h-have armor on? It isn't fair."  
"Well, it was you that fastened it together, so, technically speaking, it was you that ensured I had armor on."  
"Well, you . . ." My voice tailed off as I realised he was right. Glaring, I pouted at the smirk adorning his features.  
"You planned this."  
"Maybe. But do you really mind?" In response, I pushed my lips up to meet his own, savoring the moments of control I had. They disappeared as things began to get heated, Duncan's hands wandering over my back and stomach alternatively, leaving a burning trail wherever they touched. Soon, they drifted lower, latching on to my outer thighs and using them as leverage to pull me on to his lap. A small moan escaped, almost silent compared to our breathing, but it was there, the auditory proof of how much I was enjoying his company.  
"Well, this is interesting, don't you agree, boys?" Each pulled away from the other as we both scanned the clearing, any trace of embarrassment we might have had being replaced by fear. Or at least, it was in my case. The voice was male and, judging by the tone, human. I may have trusted Duncan, but that didn't mean I trusted the rest of them. My fear of the human race was still as great as it had been before I had started my journey. Nothing would ever change that.  
"Show yourself!" Duncan's voice was harsh, commanding as he rose to stand in front of me. A nod indicated that he wished for me to do the same. But there was a slight problem with that.  
"Duncan . . ."  
"I said show yourself!"  
"Duncan . . ." Slowly, he raised a finger, ordering wordlessly for me to be quiet as he drew his sword, pointing it towards a number of figures that hid in the shadows, a sight I hadn't noticed since this very moment. Inch by inch, they stepped forwards, claymores and daggers drawn. There was too many to count. And these were no ordinary bandits.  
"Who are you?!" Duncan was almost snarling, his sickle-like blade grasped in his other hand.  
"Now, now, good sir. Our presence here does not concern you, only your pretty companion." Gradually, my body began to shake. Cursing the Maker for all he was worth, I bit down on my lip, trying to keep it all in. If they were here for me, I couldn't show weakness. Or rather, I couldn't show any more weakness than I already had.  
"You still haven't answered my question: who are you?!" Sighing, the man in charge shook his head.  
"My, you are stubborn, aren't you? Fine. Our names matter not. All you need to know is that we're here to ensure she doesn't leave."  
"B-but why me?" My voice was drowning in confusion, suffocating in the uncertainty of the reasoning behind it all. Apparently, Duncan didn't feel the same.  
"Who hired you?" My eyes filled with shock at his words, my mouth falling slightly ajar. These men were hired assassins . . . and I was their target.  
"I'm not too sure. He never said his name. However, my boys did some research and I do believe it was the captain of the guard in the great city of Denerim." My lips slammed together rapidly to hold in the cry that was close to escaping. I had thought . . . I had thought I had gotten away, that I was free. I should have known better.  
"Well, gentlemen, I'm not about to let that happen. I suggest you leave now, while you have the chance." Laughing, the hit-man took a step forwards.  
"You don't scare us, Warden. You're outnumbered ten to one. If anyone should be leaving with their tail between their legs, it's you. Look, killing others outside our targets isn't really a habit of mine. I would like to keep it that way, so please, just move aside."  
"Never." And that's when the fighting began. To make things worse, the party extended beyond the small group we had seen at the edge of the woods. I watched in horror as assassin after assassin leaped from the trees, disturbed foliage fluttering to the floor left, right and center. Blood decorated the ground as bodies slumped to the floor, lifeless, yet still warm. Never before had I admired how great a fighter Duncan truly was. Many attacks missed and those that hit barely made a mark, leaving a delicate scratch on the surface of his armor. But there were so many coming and he could not fight forever. A fact he knew well.  
"Run, Xirabo!"  
"But, Duncan -"  
"No buts! Go, now!"  
"No, Duncan! You don't under -"  
"NOW!"  
"I CAN'T!" I was trying. Over and over, I put every ounce of concentration into pulling myself to my feet, but I just couldn't do it. The wound was too deep to have healed overnight. The pressure of standing was too great for such an injury. Even walking was a lost cause. Any idea of running had been scraped away on to that rock. Whatever happened in that battle, I was going to bear a witness to it. Because I wasn't going anywhere.

I don't know how long that battle raged on, or how many people fell, but by the end, the ground was saturated, the unabsorbed scarlet liquid forming hot puddles that burned anything that touched them. Finally, there was only one man left, and the injuries he bore were great. I don't know how he had done it, but all of them lie dead, no longer a part of this world.

**_One left. One left_**.

I repeated it like a mantra, a personal (and much shorter) Chant of Light.

**_One left. One left._**

But there wasn't just one left.  
"Duncan, look out!" I was too late. The hilt of the sword hit the back of his head with perfect precision and he crumpled to the floor without a sound.  
"No!" Snickering, the pair walked forwards, sheathing their weapons slowly, similar expressions on their face, expressions I'd seen before.  
"Look at this, boss. The little elf is all on her own, so young and vulnerable. Beautiful." Snarling, I did the only thing I could think of: I pushed off the ground with my good leg, catapulting myself along the floor, towards my armor. Towards my blade. Amazingly, Maker knows how, I grasped the handle, aiming it at the two men.  
"Half-elf actually, bastard." I wasn't afraid anymore, the anger I felt ensured that. The fury was spreading through my body, shoving fear out of the picture, causing my blood to boil with the rage. Laughing, they stared at me, the mirth present in their eyes.  
"And what do you plan to do with that, darling?"  
"I plan to run you through if you take one more step. There's not a problem with that, is there?" Meanwhile, my brain was in overdrive, sifting through every memory I had, trying desperately to remember the lessons of my father, one in particular. It had been a long day, and I was restless. But still, no matter how much I interrupted, he persevered, teaching me how to summon creatures to aid me in a battle, from a mighty wolf to a fearsome spider. At this moment in time, I was drawing a blank. And that didn't look like it was about to change any time soon.  
"Well, you've got quite a mouth on you, haven't you?" There was another plan, it was reckless, impulsive. Everything that had kept me alive before.  
"Why should I treat human scum, such as yourself, with even an ounce of respect? You're assassins, the dregs of society, the bottom of the heap. Tell me, do you enjoy what you do, knowing that the Maker will send you below when you die? A life of excitement, then an eternity of hell. Interesting choice there, sir." The nearest killer shook with wrath, his hands clenching into fists. In spite of his partner's protests, he stormed forwards, fingers tangling in my shirt as he slammed my body into the nearest tree, teeth bared like a wild beast.  
"YOU WILL LEARN YOUR PLACE, YOU KNIFE-EARED BITCH!" But I was standing now, the dagger still grasped in my fist. Perfect. As cautiously as I could, I wrapped my free arm around the trunk. The other slammed upwards, skewering the hit-man on the end of it. He shrieked in pain, but I didn't falter, not once, stabbing at his side again and again until, finally, he slid to the floor, his last moments of pain and terror still etched on his face. So there I stood, the cloth covering my body stained with his blood, my gaze locked with the last of the fighters.  
"Come," I whispered, my eyes glinting murderously. "Let me slay you so that you may lay with your friend." Torn, his eyes darted to the bodies that lay around him, to the knife I held, then to the safety of the trees.  
"Come on. Come to me. Let me help you . . . sleep." Growling, he backed away, hands shaking in fear.  
"I'll be back with more men. You'll die next time." Smiling darkly, I nodded.  
"I'll be waiting." He ran, faster than I'd seen anyone run before, disappearing into the darkness. The smirk slipped from my face as my shoulders drooped, all of my energy seemingly gone from existence. My arm shook as my hold on my 'support beam' weakened to breaking point, my weapon falling from my grasp. I slumped to the floor, my knees jolting at the impact.  
"Duncan . . ." Inch by inch, I dragged my body across the floor to where he lay, motionless and unconscious, but otherwise unharmed, thank the Maker. Once again, I felt the drain that had plagued me since the fight. It was unlike anything I had felt before. It lay waste to all of my training, every one of my resolves. I just wanted to sleep, to lay down and slip into the Fade. I was straining to keep my eyes open, trying to survive against the heavy lids. But it was no use. Faintly, I latched on to his shoulder, shaking it vigorously, begging him to wake up. Alas, for nothing. Everything was blurred, out of focus. Defeated, I turned my gaze to the ground, caught off guard by the pool of blood forming under the blood-stained bandage.  
"Oh, Andraste's flaming ass!" That was the last thing I was able to mutter before the darkness claimed me, taking over my senses, allowing my body to leave me to die on the forest floor.


End file.
